


Nocturne

by Laura_Mayfair



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Angst, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 12:19:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1428250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura_Mayfair/pseuds/Laura_Mayfair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom Zarek and Laura Roslin spend the night together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nocturne

**Author's Note:**

> Written for bsg-kink. Self-prompted. Prompt: Surprise.

  
  
He’d only touched her to steady her when the heel of her shoe slipped, sending her into a small skid. It was a clumsy clamoring, the way he reached out for her. Her slip was far more graceful than the near-miss of his haphazard catch. Only Laura Roslin could almost go ass over tea-kettle and still manage to come out of it with poise.  
  
He held onto her a little longer than necessary, the flat of his palm against her abdomen and his other hand on her waist. Later, he’d reflect upon all the reasons why he didn’t let go right away. But in the moment, he wasn’t thinking about anything besides the fact that he liked the way she felt, as sensation and want drowned out the more reasonable voice of discretion.  
  
When he kissed her, it was a spontaneous and quick press of his mouth against her lips -- a chaste kiss -- not at all in line with his racing pulse or the sudden stab of desire. Maybe some remote part of his unconsciousness was smart enough to show some restraint -- but he’d never really been smart around this woman.  
  
He let her go then, half expecting a slap, certainly a reproach, but her expression was unreadable as she merely smoothed out her skirt, which didn’t look to Tom like it was in any way rumpled. She looked impeccable.  
  
“Not going to throw me to the ground again, Madame President?” Definitely not his best line.  
  
Her lips formed into an infuriatingly cryptic smile.“ Not at the moment, Mr. Vice President.”  
  
He grinned at her. “That’s unfortunate.”  
  
Laura hummed a non-commital response as she strode over to her desk. She settled herself down into her chair, and once she was neatly installed, began writing notes on a small pad of paper.  
  
Tom picked his suit jacket up from his own chair and put it on. He then grabbed his brief case and stole one more glance at Laura before slipping wordlessly out of her office.  
  
Tory had begrudgingly set up some temporary quarters for him on _Colonial One_ , which mainly consisted of a curtain and a cot, located in a drafty but blessedly isolated corner of the ship. She didn’t give a damn about his privacy; she just wanted him as far away as possible, probably with the keen hope that she could forget about his existence.  
  
It had been late when he’d left Laura, and Tom was tired, since sleep had been elusive since New Caprica -- not that he’d ever been much of a sound sleeper. No one ever quite gets used to the sounds of a prison when the lights are dimmed.  
  
He was in bed with his worn copy of _The Oresteia_ when he heard a rustling outside his curtain. He knew Laura’s step, but it seemed so improbable that he almost didn’t believe it until her voice confirmed it to be true.  
  
“Knock, knock.”  
  
 _Frak._  
  
“Come in.” He watched as she pulled the curtain aside and stepped in. He rested his book, face down, against his thigh. “I’m not wearing a shirt.”  
  
Laura laughed, gazing at him with neutral eyes. “Obviously not.”  
  
“I mean I can put one on.”  
  
“Oh, I’m not going to stay.” She gave him an amused smile as she peered at him in the dim light. “I think I can handle it.”  
  
She was wearing her pajamas, cream colored silk. They were too big for her, but then again, everyone had shed pounds on New Caprica. She held a mug in her hands.  
  
“Can’t sleep?” asked Laura.  
  
Tom shook his head. “Not really. You?”  
  
“No. I brought you some tea.” She shrugged. “Of course, whether or not it qualifies as tea is highly debatable.”  
  
Tom wouldn’t have been more surprised if someone had told him that the whole Cylon invasion had been a high school kid’s elaborate joke. Laura Roslin bringing him tea in the middle of the night was almost more unexpected than her offering him the vice-presidency only a couple of days ago.  
  
He was big, bad Tom Zarek. People didn’t bring him things.  
  
He took the mug from her and placed it on the small table next to his cot. “Thanks.”  
  
“You’re welcome.” She turned to leave and he caught her wrist before she had a chance to step out of his reach.  
  
He couldn't quite mask the sincerity in his voice as he coaxed her to stay. "You don't have to go."  
  
It wouldn’t be the first time they’d laid down next to one another. They’d huddled together once before, just for one night, on the cold concrete floor of their shared detention cell, for practical reasons. Platonic ones. Warmth and contact. And comfort. It was one of many unacknowledged things from detention that they would never discuss.  
  
He tugged on her wrist, and when he didn’t feel any resistance, he drew her toward himself. He kissed her insistently this time, wanting her to kiss him back, and groaning into her mouth when she did. She pressed her hand into the nape of his neck, dragging him closer.  
  
His body still ached from the tumble he’d taken when they dodged the Centurion firing squad but he didn’t care. He had bruises all over. There were red marks on their wrists from the zip ties. They’d fade in another week or so. But not everything from New Caprica would fade so fast. Tom kept his hands above Laura’s waist, wanting her to decide where this would go.  
  
The kissing was good -- _too_ good -- a fact that the lower half of his body was quickly asserting. Laura slid a hand along his inner thigh and then skimmed her fingertips over the bulge in his pants. He responded by gripping her waist and pulling her closer so that she was directly on top of him -- and no longer at an angle.  
  
It would have been a blissful position to be in if it hadn’t been for the soreness in his back. Tom winced.  
  
“I need to be on top.”  
  
“Well, that’s nothing new,” said Laura with a soft laugh.  
  
She rose to switch positions.  
  
He wanted her out of her clothes, so before she laid back down on the cot, Tom tugged her top up over her head -- too impatient to bother with the buttons. His hands flew to his zipper while Laura wriggled out of her pajama bottoms. He staggered a little as he hauled his second leg out of his pants and his eyes were riveted to her, mesmerized as she slid her underwear down legs that seemed to go on forever.  He kicked his clothes away, hands colliding with hers as he pulled at her last few pieces of clothing.  
  
He touched her before he entered her, sliding his hands in between her legs. He enjoyed the way her hips rocked against his fingers, the breathy little moans, the eager sighs. Their pace, when he finally pushed inside her slick warmth, was frantic and fast. Their flame burned hot and bright.  
  
Afterwards, he held her and she nestled up against him in the quiet space.  
  
It wouldn’t last. It couldn’t possibly last.  
  
Tom dozed. It couldn't have been more than an hour at most -- and she was already gone.


End file.
